


Only Human

by sabbathgoat



Category: Mötley Crüe, The Dirt (2019), The Dirt: Confessions of the World's Most Notorious Rock Band Book - Mötley Crüe & Neil Strauss
Genre: 1984 ish, Anxiety, Crying, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, M/M, Mick really needs a hug, Nikki tries to love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:27:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25795864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabbathgoat/pseuds/sabbathgoat
Summary: There in the dark, Nikki found him.Mick was lost in a river of hurt where he sat in the shadows, drowning in the sorrow that always came in waves too strong. He needed saving, whether he would admit it or not. And Nikki didn't know how to swim those unfamiliar waters, but he would try.For Mick, he would try.
Relationships: Mick Mars & Nikki Sixx, Mick Mars/Nikki Sixx
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	Only Human

**Author's Note:**

> Can be read as a relationship or not! 
> 
> THEME SONG:  
> https://youtu.be/JIzdTxrIx2I

It wasn't a very uncommon fact known in their shit eating world. It was just a way of life; it had been that way since their rocky beginning so very long ago. A cold, distant notion always floating somewhere nearby just out of eyesight, but none of them ever having the time to simply turn and _look_ at it. That was just too much work- too much work that none of them had the right damn time for. And it took just a _little_ too much mustered up energy for Motley Crue to comfortably console _anyone_ , even themselves. There was no room on Sunset Strip for sympathy and all it's little bugging friends when you were scrounging in the gutter to get by...

So of _course_ it had taken Motley Crue plenty years of ripened chaos and rooted catastrophe to finally have any ounce of the bravery it took to snap back at that horrible, sneaking, lurking reality.

In 1981, Nikki Sixx was the first one to see it. He was there, had been sitting next to his new friend- _if that's what he could call that modern day vampire freak-_ Mick Mars when he'd heard the first insult. It was whispered under the hot breath of two busty blonde strippers as they strolled past them where they sat at the table of their regular club. Nikki had been downing his first drink of the night while Mick just scooted lower in his chair to find a comfortable spot, out of sight and out of mind; Tommy long ago having dragged Vince away to the stage. Mick's sunglasses had remained upon his porcelain face despite the darkened room, but when those harsh words fell past those lipstick painted mouths as they walked by, Nikki _wished_ he could have seen those blue eyes.

' _Look at that old creep; let's stay the hell away from his table. He looks ancient and dead compared to his hot friends.'_

_'He's probably their fucking pimp! Or just a dead body they drug here with them!'_

Nikki watched the two women walk by as they snickered more insults he could no longer hear, and then he turned to Mick. If Mick had heard them, he played it off well like he didn't. The guitarist may be a few years older than himself, but Nikki knew the man's hearing was still perfect. His own mouth hung slightly agape, an eyebrow almost raised, as he stared into the dark voids of Mick's glasses. He didn't know where Mick was looking. He was facing ahead, but there was no way Nikki wasn't in his line of sight as he sat nearly right in front of him. His green eyes bore into Mick's beyond the dark glass and they _begged_ for a response to such _assinine_ comments. _'Didn't you hear them? They called you old and ugly and dead, doesn't that piss you off!?'_ Nikki wailed in his mind.

But Mick reamined still, silent, and unbothered. Well, unbothered on the _outside_ , at least. He sat like the corpse she'd called him as he pretended to watch the dancers on their poles, but Nikki knew better. He could see the small crack work its way along the collected facade his bandmate always kept up. After seconds ticked by of silence, Nikki finally assumed it was just because their world had no room for sadness or sympathy in its cold, cold hands.

_But he knew better._

  
Tommy was there with Nikki the second time it happened. It was only six days later, at a party the four of them decided to crash on a hot summer night. The temperature outside was a sweltering eighty-five degrees, and Mick had strolled up clad in his leather heels, leather pants, and leather jacket over the only piece of clothing not shiny and black- his cotton tee. Nikki had silently admired such power to not over heat in California's unforgiving summer as Mick easily kept up with them on the walk to the house. Never once sighing to gather cool air in his lungs, or slipping his jacket off, or even mentioning the heat. Nikki, Vince, and Tommy had all shed their shirts long ago, favoring nothing but their sneakers and jeans under the bright sun. To any others walking by outside, Mick had probably looked like the grim reaper in disguise, silently floating behind his next three targets. A few heads turned to hold a longer stare, trying to compute the hodge podge group before them, but Nikki found himself rather hoping it was he, Tommy, and Vince that looked out of place.

But after only mere minutes of stalking around the rich kid's yard, looking for the cooler of beer among the sea of horny teens, Nikki heard the quiet remark. A young boy, around Tommy's age, took one look at Mick as the guitarist strolled silently behind his band awaiting the reward of alcohol for coming along, and spat a whispered insult harsh enough it made Tommy and Nikki turn around.

_'The fuck is that creep doing here? Who invited this guy?'_

Nikki, and probably Tommy as well, for a split second thought the comment had been directed at himself. His hair was decently unwashed, adding half a foot to his height, and the ripped jeans on his legs probably weren't very welcoming on one first impression. But when he and Tommy caught sight of who had said it, each of them ready for a snap of insults in return, the kid wasn't glaring at them. He was shooting daggers at _Mick_. 

Poor Mick, who stood alone near the wall of the house, terribly uncomfortable and horribly out of place, suddenly pretending to be gazing intently past his shades at the bushes. Nikki couldn't tell if he had heard the shit said about him, or if he noticed the guy and his friends currently laughing his way. Tommy looked at Nikki, with an emotion in his dark eyes that wanted _desperately_ to comfort Mick or at least kick those assholes in the shins. And Nikki did too. He gazed at Tommy, knowing the younger was waiting for Nikki to decide what to do. They had overheard a rude comment made about their bandmate, and Motley Crue were not ones to take shit from _anyone_. They should tell those kids to fuck off, they were wrong, Motley Crue was going to blow the world away and it would be because of Mick Mars. Because of that _creep_ they just insulted. All they had were each other, and Tommy was silently trying to remind Nikki of that through his wide doe eyes.

But Nikki hesitated. He glanced again over at his guitarist, watching Mick stare beyond the sea of younger people with a death grip on his vodka. If Mick hadn't heard, or just didn't care, then... neither should he, _right?_ There was no room in their world of Motley for pointless sympathy. That wasn't how rock n' roll rolled. It was a hard lesson he had learned eons ago: _keep your heart to yourself._ Because guys like them didn't deserve love like that.

Nikki suddenly felt a pressure he had never felt before in his life- the pressure that he was supposed to do something he knew he _should_ but felt like he _shouldn't_ \- so he looked away from Tommy and Mick to take off through the crowd to find his own drink.

He wanted to tell Mick they were wrong. He didn't agree with those asswipes. 

_But he didn't._

Vince was there with both Nikki and Tommy the third time it happened. Nikki wondered after yet another incident if he should start keeping a booklet of all the names of everyone who kept hating on Mick Mars, so when he became rich and famous he could _destroy_ their pathetic little lives. And it was also after the third time that he began to wonder; _did the whole world judge their band on just their looks, and not the music they made?_ Of course their showy style had always been a big part of what they did, but surely the nay-sayers could realize it was their _sound_ that made them fantastic... Right?

It was another party at the Motley apartment, Mick having begrudgingly come only with the promise from Tommy that he'd have the bedroom to himself and not one bottle of Jack Daniel's to sooth his old man bones, but _two_. Nikki wondered why Tommy always begged Mick to come to every party when they all knew Mick would just lock himself away, only arising once through the night to get a new drink and do a lap of the room, seeing if anyone worth talking to had shown up. Tommy had insisted that Mick may be older and weird like a a vampire, but he was still part of their band and deserved to join in. So Nikki rolled his eyes, and figured that if Mick wanted to come and let Tommy convince him to do so, then that wasn't his problem.

And on this one fateful night, someone worth talking to _did_ show up.

Eddie Van Halen had tagged along with with David, stumbling in already tipsy to see if all the hot talk that the press did about Motley Crue was true. And Nikki figured, after the guitarist was drunk on the couch laughing at Tommy snorting coke off his girl's tits, that no, it wasn't true what they said. It was fucking _better_. It was more crazy, more wild, and beyond any level of off the charts insane that ever existed. Mick had somehow- with his old wise man senses, Nikki assumed- discovered that one of the most famous guitarists of the century had sat his ass down on Motley Crue's couch. He slithered out of the room, easily gliding through the crowd of chaos, and stopped next to Nikki as the bassist laughed along at Tommy's deviant acts on his woman. Nikki turned his head to grin down at Mick, who was staring nearly emotionless at half of Van Halen sitting in front of him. He hadn't given more than half a damn when David was there the other night, but _Eddie_ joining the party- _now_ Mick had a reason to socialize.

"What's he doing here?" He asked Nikki. And Nikki grinned wickedly, suddenly realizing that Mick was _excited_. He hid it well, but spending so much time with the vampire had taught Nikki how to read the subtle emotions Mick often let slip through.

"Go talk to him and find out, old timer," He jokingly elbowed Mick's side. The guitarist muttered a curse under his breath, dragging in a sigh that Nikki knew was to try and calm himself down. Nikki's smile gradually turned from one of drunken madness, to something more of genuine joy. He was glad, _dare he ever say,_ that Mick _finally_ had someone to talk to. He wanted to watch his guitarist hit it off with Van Halen's, listen to them talk about stupid music stuff, and then Motley's reputation would grow and Mick would finally have a friend to hang with. He broke his own street rules, and wanted _good_ for his old man.

And Mick- poor, _poor_ fucking Mick- took only one small step forward, before it happened.

Eddie looked over, saw the fellow guitarist, and before Mick could even finish smiling, spoke those _goddamn_ words.

"Well, the old man has fucking arisen from the dead! Looking like a _corpse_ come to life!"

Nikki's smile died. Tommy froze from pawing at his girl to look between the two with a frown. Vince had walked up next to Nikki, and Nikki could see from the corner of his eye that he too sunk a little lower. Eddie and David, along with the two girls at their hips, laughed way fucking harder than they should have. It would of maybe been funny, like all the other jabs Tommy, Nikki, and Vince threw at Mick, if Eddie had said it any different. Meant it as a _joke_ , not... not an _insult_. And then the crowd started laughing too, throwing so many jokes about Mick out that Nikki couldn't even keep track of who was saying what. He wanted to stop it, shut them all up, scream at them because _fuck_ , Mick was backing away now. Nikki was left staring, with his fellow two bandmates who also wore expressions of shock, as Mick's lip twitched and his eyes filled with locked up fear.

It was a _horrid_ look, coming from such a kind soul.

Nikki opened his mouth, reached a hand out to grab Mick's sleeve, but Mick was gone before he could. He turned tail and booked it out the broken front door, with endless laughs following his footsteps.

Nikki clenched a fist as his knuckles _ached_ to break every damn nose in the room. He vaguely heard Vince mumble something too quiet to hear next to him, before the blode sunk away into the amused crowd. Nikki knew Tommy was just as distraught as himself, and probably trying to act like he didn't care. After all, they weren't allowed to care about those things, right?

But _Nikki_ cared. He realized it then, in that painful moment as he stood still and dead in the middle of a party that was clawing away the only kindness he'd ever known.

_He cared._

  
_"Hey, Mick?"_ Nikki's voice carried softly through the studio, almost too whispered to even make out in the darkened room. It was full of timid caution, unsure shyness, charting through unfamiliar territory of offering comfort. He had never done this before; seek out, reach out, hold one close with his words. Nikki Sixx bit his bottom lip, trying to tell himself for the first time in his life that he was _allowed_ to care. He was allowed to love something, even if it didn't love or need him back. _"You in here?"_ He of course _knew_ Mick was there, among the walls of amps and guitars in the studio, sitting with the lights out as he so often did. But the right thing to do was ask, just in case.

 _"What?"_ Mick nearly moaned from the sofa, and it made Nikki's heart race. Nikki swayed on his feet, opening and closing his mouth to try and force those foreign words up. He yanked on a piece of his unruly hair, standing in the doorway where it let through a golden ray of hallway light. If it hadn't been for his dark and sharp appearance, he may have looked like an angel descending down from the Heavens, sinking into the Hell below to reach for a poor tortured soul that didn't belong in such darkness.

"Can I-" Nikki closed his mouth again. He wanted to ask if he could turn on the light, but quickly decided that he shouldn't do that. Mick didn't want to be seen, and Nikki couldn't bare the ruined look in those blue eyes if he saw them. He would cry, he _knew_ he would, and then maybe Mick would too.

 _Faggot_.

Of all the insults Mick had bared from their fans and reporters across the globe, never before had fucking _fag_ been one of them. Nikki had felt the last pole break under Mick's bridge of strength when the shot was fired, and the guitarist had left them alone in the middle of a signing.

Mick Mars, the strongest man Nikki could think of on the spot, had stood silently after the words left that fucker in line, and walked away.

No word, no tears- no emotion behind his sunglasses or on his lips.

And the worst part, beyond the stench of death from his rotting heart as he walked past his band, was that no one noticed.

No one cared.

No one asked.

_Where's Mick? Where's your guitar player?_

Nikki had watched his friend disappear behind the door, and that was it. He couldn't remember finishing the event, singing thousands of pictures of his own fucking face along with Tommy and Vince, or handing them back to eager girls who didn't give two shits that there was a name missing among them.

 _"What, Nikki?"_ Mick hissed again, a breath of hot hostile air. It snapepd Nikki out of his flashback, and the bassist made a weird noise in his throat before he could speak again.

"I-I needed to check on you," He tried to hide the wavering in his voice.

_"For what? I'm fine."_

"I know what fine sounds like from you, Mick, and that ain't it. Can I come in?" Nikki shifted again. The anxiety from coming here began to wash away, as he kept telling himself _it's fine. You're allowed to try. Mick is your bandmate, and that makes him your family. Just do what Nona always does._

 _God,_ he wanted a fucking Jack Daniel's right now.

 _"It's your studio, I don't make the fuckin' rules,"_ Mick was the closest thing to growling now. Nikki heard him move in the darkness on the couch, shifting once before stilling again. Nikki sighed and shut the door, leaving them alone in the comforting darkness. But that was okay, because both of them knew their studio well enough to not step on anything important, or take out a knee on the drums. The lack of light was a blessing in dark disguise, because feelings run rampant were things neither of them knew how to catch.

_Words. He just needed words right now. Words that Nikki had to fix for him._

He stalked over to where he knew Mick was sitting, on the only sofa in the room, and stared down at him. His eyes were slowly adjusting, making out the shape of his older friend and the back of the couch behind him.

Mick said nothing. Nikki wished he could see what he felt, but instead sat down next to him. He misjudged the distance only slightly, sitting further away than he wanted to so he quickly scooted closer before it would be too late and end up awkward. His thigh pressed against Mick's, and Mick practically snarled, trying to scoot away but failing when the armrest stopped him.

_"What the fuck are you doing!"_

And there it was- that emotion Nikki knew all too well. And if he hadn't heard it just then, hidden behind all that anger, he would have obeyed and moved away.

 _Fear_. Mick was _scared_. Scared of the world outside, and what Nikki may do to bring it into the sanctuary he'd found. Nikki didn't blame him; he was probably the last person ever worthy of telling someone he was _sorry_ , and that it would be okay. He'd been _awful_ to Mick before, in a drunken stupor as he made his band's life a living hell every waking day. Mick had a right to hate him, hate his life, and hate any tease of love dangled in front of him.

Nikki understood that. He'd been there, hiding in the dark with tear stains on his face as he deemed himself unlovable.

So as Mick rambled off tipsy commands for Nikki to move away, to stop acting like he gave a shit, Nikki hugged him.

_Touch. He needed touch, even though it would burn at first._

It lasted only one second before Mick shoved him off, but Nikki launched at him again. He groped in the darkness for Mick's body, latching onto his leather jacket just before Mick shoved him a second time. But Mick never told him to stop, or that it hurt, so as Nikki caught himself after the push he did it again. Tears were welling in his own green eyes, and as his arms wrapped around Mick with determination a third time, they stayed there.

Mick grabbed Nikki's shirt at his shoulders, ready to yank him off, but they only made it halfway before shaking with failure. He choked on a breath, teeth bared against Nikki's neck as the bassist tucked his face away into Mick's hair.

Nikki held his breath, squeezing Mick just a little tighter. He closed his eyes tight, held two fists of his friend's jacket, and felt his tears soak into Mick's mane. And just a few seconds, a few wet gasps of air, went by until Mick let go. His hands released Nikki's shirt. They shook in the air. And then, as Nikki nuzzled him closer silently answering _yes_ , they cautiously rested upon his bandmate's back.

 _"I'm sorry."_ It was all Nikki could whisper somewhere in the depths of Mick's hair.

 _"For what?"_ Mick's voice was broken, weak with shallow breaths. Nikki could tell he was crying now, sitting frozen in Nikki's embrace.

_"What he said. It's not true. Nothing ever is true, none of what they say."_

_"I don't fuckin' care about that!"_ Mick gripped his shirt again and Nikki prepared to be ripped away once more, but it didn't happen. Mick quivered as the damn in his mind held back the river of emotions with just one small stone. Nikki heard it crack, shift just slightly, and prepared for the downpour.

"It's okay if you do! I saw you leave, I know it upset you."

 _"Why the fuck do you care!?"_ The claws Mick swiped at him were painfully familiar, so Nikki dodged the cuts all to easily.

"Because I do, fucker. It's not easy, okay? I know I fuck up all the time but _fuck_ , you don't deserve that shit. I mean, that asshole had _no_ fucking right to just, just _call you that!_ I want to fucking _kill him!"_ Nikki's voice raised slightly holding Mick even tighter until the older man whined a soft groan and twitched. Nikki released him slightly, dragging in a sigh to hold him more comfortably.

Mick was _there_ , in his arms. A warm and cool weight against his chest. He was breathing ragged trying not to cry, but he was _breathing_. The leather on his jacket squeaked as they shifted, and his gut rose against Nikki's with each inhale. It was Mick, _his_ Mick, alive in his arms. A piece of Nikki's life he hadn't before realized how much he fucking _needed_.

And as Mick relaxed, finally letting loose that dam of pain, Nikki caught him. He held his friend up, and listened to him cry.

Mick Mars, the strongest man Nikki knew. He cried hard, wandering lost towards the light Nikki was offering. And it might have been the only light Mick had seen in a long, _long_ time.

And as he held Mick closer than anyone, rubbing his sore back, whispering truths that it would be okay, he realized it again.

He cared. He loved. And that was okay.

_They would be okay._


End file.
